


I Hear Your Hand

by mishaphappens



Series: 4 out of 5 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Deaf Character, Deaf Sam Winchester, Gen, Handicap, High School, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaphappens/pseuds/mishaphappens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has to work harder, harder than everybody else, because they can retain a hundred percent of their surroundings. Sam receives only eighty percent. You’re working with four out of five senses, John always tells him. Four out of five. Those are Sam’s numbers, the definition of his being, the handicap that describes who he is, the only thing he’s ever going to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hear Your Hand

Dean knows nothing good can come from Sam when he walks through the front door, fingers immediately signing. Dean sighs, lifting his beer, and pretends to not see Sam’s waving hands. Instead, he forces himself to stare at the TV where Chuck Norris is running around kicking some ass. That doesn’t deter Sammy although, oh no, and he stands in front of the TV, hands flying around. Dean tries to follow what he’s saying but it’s like coming in on the middle of a conversation and he has no idea what Sam’s rambling about. He’s sweaty from the walk home, fiddling with the shoulder of his backpack where it’s slipping off, while still talking. Dean feels a headache coming on, the kind that builds behind his eyes.  
  
“Okay, stop!” Dean yells, hand slicing through the air and into his open palm.   
  
Sam immediately stills, breathing hard, looking shocked and embarrassed. Dean heaves a breath and rubs at his eyes. He’s been awake for twenty-four hours, working a case with Dad, and now that it broke, all he wants to do is take a moment for himself. Just an hour to relax and then maybe catch a few hours’ worth of sleep…  
  
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean says instead, lowering his hand. But Sam’s already gone, Chuck Norris giving the morale of the hour, and then one of the bedroom doors is slamming shut. Dean thinks about letting Sam throw his tantrum, but Sam’s expression from when he came in after school—it haunts him when he shuts his eyes. Sam had been wearing his anxious, _you-fix-everything_ face.   
  
Before he knows it, Dean’s is up and opening the door to their room. Sam pulls a pillow over his face at the sight of him.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says gently. He sits on the bed and grabs for the pillow. Sam tightens his hold on it and Dean tugs harder. Sam whines and Dean stops for a moment to rearrange himself, leaning over Sam’s head.  
  
“Come on, you little bitch,” Dean grunts. “What are you trying to do, smother yourself?”  
  
But Sam won’t give up the pillow and can’t hear him anyways and Dean realizes how easily his little brother can block out the whole world if he really wants. All he has to do is close his eyes and never open them again. The thought scares Dean a little, how effortlessly Sam can push everything away, can push Dean away.  
  
“Hey, man,” Dean says and he’s not begging. He isn’t. He brushes Sam’s hands, gets one free from the pillow, and drags it to his chest. He places his other hand under it and signs sorry, lets Sam feel it, repeating it over and over again until Sam is gripping his hand so tight he can’t move it anymore.  
  
  
\  
  
  
There are a few things to be said about public schools. Firstly, they suck. John and Dean both know this. But the things they hunt are not always conveniently next door to a school for the Deaf. John tries to keep them in one place for as long as possible, going on hunts by himself when he can. Finally there comes a time when moving can’t be avoided and John moves them to another state with plenty of paranormal activity in the area to keep him busy for another few months.   
  
But the places they go, the high schools Sam transfers to…Most of them don’t have the resources for him. They usually try to put him in a Special Ed classroom and Sam hates that, hates it more than anything. He’s _deaf_ , not slow to learn. But since he can’t participate in class _their way_ , they deem him stupid and decide he would be more comfortable in a smaller classroom where he can receive more _individual_ attention.  
  
This leads Sam to his next point about public schools: they are cruel. It’s bad enough to be labeled the new kid in town. It’s even harder to be labeled the new _retarded_ kid. If he’s put in a special classroom, he’s sectioned off from the rest of his peers. If he’s not in their classrooms, in their faces with his deafness, then they ignore him. They never learn to accept him as a person.  
  
And that’s Sam’s final point about public schools: they’re lonely. Sam can’t communicate with anyone there. They are so awkward facing his deafness, over enunciating their words, slowing them down, making them louder until they’re both embarrassed. Some people are just too scared to talk to him, so they don’t. They are forced change the way they act; teachers constantly reminding themselves to face the class when they’re explaining things and not talk into the board so Sam can read their lips.   
  
When people do decide to talk to him, they say either too little—scared smiles, an awkward wave, a ‘Hi, what’s up?’ but they don’t really want the answer. Or they say too much, rambling off with confusing hand waving, hair flipping, lip smacking, and Sam can’t follow. Then they think he’s stupid and treat him as such. Sam has to work harder, harder than everybody else, because they can retain a hundred percent of their surroundings. Sam receives only eighty percent. _You’re working with four out of five senses_ , John always tells him. Four out of five. Those are Sam’s numbers, the definition of his being, the handicap that describes who he is, the only thing he’s ever going to be.  
  
So, when they recommend _Special Ed_ , Sam tells them, ‘No, thank you’. He bugs teachers for their lesson plans and notes. He throws himself into group projects and doesn’t give them a chance to reject him simply because he can’t hear. _I’m just like you_ , he says. _I’m just four out of five_.  
  
  
\  
  
  
Sam’s shocked when a dark-haired girl walks up to him during biology class and introduces herself with her hands. She laughs at his surprised expression and explains that her grandmother was deaf and she learned a bit before she passed away. Her name is Veronica, but she likes to be called Roni. She asks him if he will speak to her, but continue signing. She wants to learn more.  
  
Sam thinks he might be in love.  
  
She’s short and full-figured, has a laugh that looks like it might fill up the hallways. They walk to all of their classes together. Then after school, they walk side by side for two blocks on their way home. They go their separate ways during bad weather or stop to talk for a couple more minutes during good. She’s beautiful and brassy and looks at Sam through her heavy mascara like she knows something about him that he doesn’t and she’s just waiting for him to figure it out.  
  
  
\  
  
  
Three months later, Roni plants her feet at ‘their’ corner on their usual walk home together. Sam stops and looks at her, watches her bite the corner of her lip. He raises his hands, signs, _What? Fine you?_  
  
Her shoulders and chest lift, hands moving up in front of her nervously. With a hesitant nod, she signs, her lips sealed tight in concentration. _You come to my play named—_ Her hand stutters at the finger spelling and she shakes it out, erasing the air, her smile embarrassed. Sam waits, trying to remember how to breathe. She tries again. _Zombie Prom tonight?_   
  
Before she’s even finished, Sam is pulling her into a hug. He presses his cheek against her curly hair and squeezes his eyes tight to stop the prickling. He thinks she’s laughing, he can’t really tell without pulling away, and she’s hugging him back. Sam wonders if this is the moment he’s been waiting for. It’s never felt right until now, like hugging is all that’s left to do, to finish this, to make it even better. He’s wanted to since he met her and he feels like he’s going to burst from happiness. He wants her to know how incredible she makes him.   
  
They pull away a moment later and she’s smiling. So is Sam. _Do it, do it now, lean down--_. He taps his watch instead, hand shaking, licking his lips nervously. She thinks for a moment and then slowly lifts her hand with the number seven. He nods and she nods back and they smile stupidly at each other and Sam thinks, yeah, _this is **it**_ . He starts to lean down but she turns her head away before he gets very far and waves to someone across the street.  
  
She apologizes, says that she has a few things to do before the play. Will she see him later?  
  
Sam nods slowly.  
  
She squeezes his hand with a grin, says something Sam doesn’t quite catch, and then she’s running across the street to the girl waiting for her. Sam turns down his block in a daze.  
  
  
\  
  
  
By the time Sam is close to home, he’s in full panic mode. Roni wants him to go see her play. What if she asks him how she did? What if he liked the play? What if he doesn’t understand? It’s hard enough reading lips when people are right in front of him. Trying to watch multiple characters in low budget lighting on a large stage would be nearly impossible.  
  
Sam wants to enjoy Roni’s play. She’s put a lot of work into it in the past three months. He caught her walking to school once for a rehearsal at 6 am in the morning while on a jog with Dean. They had walked her to the building, as it was still dark and she was nearly sleepwalking. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday she went to those morning rehearsals until school started at eight. But with her having the lead part, it’s only to be expected. She couldn’t miss any of the practices.   
  
She also lost her voice a couple of times from all the singing. He would watch her grumpily rasp to their classmates and seemed almost relieved to use her hands, instead of her voice, when talking to Sam. Sometimes she had trouble signing every word she wanted to say, interjecting random words with her voice as she signed. Sam would always smile and ask her to speak up, he couldn’t hear her, and she would glower, flip him off, and drink her tea.   
  
He’s worried about disappointing her. He wants to make her proud that he followed along with something that is so important to her. But there is no way that Sam is going to understand if there isn’t an interpreter. Unless…  
  
Dean.  
  
Sam sprints the last few yards to the house, glad to see the Impala sitting in the driveway. Dean is home. Dean can go to the play with him and tell Sam what is going on. He _will_. That is--If he doesn’t have to work with dad or if he doesn’t already have plans involving a six pack and some girl. Sam is a mix of emotions—excited, hopeful, nervous--and he’s shaking, sweaty, when he walks through the door. Dean is planted on the couch nursing a beer and Sam cuts right to the chase.  
  
 _Dean! Dean, you help me?_   Dean looks away from him and Sam steps in front of the TV so Dean can see him better. _You help me? Roni wants me see play._ Dean’s eyebrows scrunch up on his forehead. _You come interpret? If you not busy. You busy? I want go, Dean. I can’t without you. Means a lot me. If you come—_   
  
When Dean’s hand slices through the air and into his open palm, Sam jerks into silence, staring as Dean rubs at his eyes. Sam’s hands fall to his sides slowly.   
  
He didn’t think it was possible, not at home. Not with Dean. It’s expected at school. No one can understand sign language or when he speaks. It’s easy to ignore hand waving and garbled words when they’re impossible to comprehend. But here, it’s supposed to be different. Home is the place where Sam _can_ talk and be heard. Not ignored. Not unseen.  
  
Sam’s never felt so deaf in all his life.  
  
Sam walks to his bedroom and throws the door shut behind him. He lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He never realized how easy it would be for Dean to silence him. All Dean has to do is close his eyes and never open them again. That’s all it would take for anyone. Sam--invisible in their darkness.  
  
Dean opens the door and walks in. Sam pulls the pillow over his head, suffocates in the silence, in the blackness. Dean fights him for the pillow and Sam feels a scream building in his throat. _Can you ignore that, Dean?_ he thinks.  
  
Dean struggles for one of Sam’s hands, dragging it away and putting it on his chest, his other hand underneath it. It’s moving slowly, repeating, again, again.  
  
 _Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sor-._  
  
Sam grips Dean’s hand and breathes.


End file.
